“And the sister? She had a wild-rose prettiness, I thought, when I saw her at Oxford. She looked like a lily till I spoke to her, and then flamed like a red rose. So fresh, so easily startled. ’Tis pity that shyness of youthful purity wears off in a week. I dare swear by this time Mrs. Kirkland is as brazen as the boldest of our young houris yonder,” with a glance in the direction of the maids of honour, the Queen’s and the Duchess’s, a bevy of chatterers, waving fans, giggling, whispering, shoulder to shoulder with the impudentest men in his Majesty’s kingdom; the men who gave their mornings to writing comedies coarser than Dryden or Etherege, and their nights to cards, dice, and strong drink; roving the streets half clad, dishevelled, wanton; beating the watch, and insulting decent pedestrians; with occasional vicious outbreaks which would have been revolting in a company of inebriated coal-heavers, and which brought these fine gentlemen before a too lenient magistrate. But were not these the manners of which St. Evremond lightly sang— “‘La douce erreur ne s’appelait point crime; Les vices délicats se nommaient des plaisirs.’” “Mistress Kirkland has an inexorable modesty which would outlive even a week at Whitehall, sir,” answered Rochester. “If I did not adore the matron I should worship the maid. Happily for the wretch who loves her I am otherwise engaged!” “Thou insolent brat! To be eighteen years of age and think thyself irresistible!” “Does your Majesty suppose I shall be more attractive at six and thirty?” “Yes, villain; for at my age thou wilt have experience.” “And a reputation for incorrigible vice. No woman of taste can resist that.” “And pray who is Mrs. Kirkland’s lover?” “A Puritan baronet. One Denzil Warner.” “There was a Warner killed at Hoptown Heath.” “His son, sir. A fellow who believes in extempore prayer and republican government; and swears England was never so happy or prosperous as under Cromwell.” “And the lady favours this psalm-singing rebel?” “I know not. For all I have seen of the two she has been barely civil to him. That he adores her is obvious; and I know Lady Fareham’s heart is set upon the match.” “Why did not Lady Fareham return the Countess’s visit?” There was no need to ask what Countess. “Be sure, sir, the husband was to blame, if there was want of respect for that lovely lady. I can answer for Lady Fareham’s right feeling in that matter.” “The husband takes a leaf out of Hyde’s book, and forgets that what may be passed over in the Lord Chancellor, and a man of prodigious usefulness, is intolerable in a person of Fareham’s insignificance.” “Nay, sir, insignificance is scarcely the word. I would as soon call a thunderstorm insignificant. The man is a volcano, and may explode at any provocation.” “We want no such suppressed fires at Whitehall. Nor do we want long faces; as Clarendon may discover some day, if his sermons grow too troublesome.”